


Servus Amoris

by Nayarit



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drama, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-29
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nayarit/pseuds/Nayarit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nasir had been a slave all his life, but to remove constraints of servitude would not be as simple as breaking the shackles. And to be so bound by another was the last thing Nasir expected. CANON-FOLLOWS SERIES</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The collar, the one that had been around his neck since he was a child, in some fashion, the one that was browned by years of sweat in service to another, was pulled off his neck. And that he swayed with it, that the tearing of it required some strength, was not a metaphor lost upon him.

Tiberius stared up into the light eyes of the rebel Thracian, Spartacus he had said when Dominus questioned, with fire burning. Words fell swiftly from the mouths of those around Tiberius, for the name was known to all among the villa. A villain. A rebel. A slave. Though the man towering in front of him was a slave no longer, in word and deed. And it was the latter that lit the fire in Tiberius's eyes.

Was he to be the new Dominus now? Certainly he behaved as such. His words spewed of freedoms and choices, yet as they dragged Tiberius from inside the villa, the one that had been his only home, shoved him toward attending in the courtyard and demanded audience, words did little to alter actions.

Sword was placed in his hands absent choice. Was he believed such a fool that he would step forward and renounce the rebellion, surrounded by the very slaves who slaughtered all those opposed to their cause, blood still glistening on pointed blades?

As his hand flew to his neck, he felt the weight of his Dominus's collar still. As he looked up at the man who he knew, without question, would rob him of his life if he defied cause he felt the weight of his Dominus's collar still.

"Now, who would have blood?" Spartacus demanded, passion scouring his words, his eyes, his motivation. And it was the weight of his Dominus's collar still that caused the silent answer in Tiberius.

He _would_ have blood.


	2. Chapter 2

Immediately after having sword in hand the training began. Soldiers were expected to be grown from slaves. From men that had never held such a weapon, or had never known anything other than the confines of a villa. And the hastening of training was not lost on Tiberius. Of all the slaves among those chosen, for the cause demanded, he was the least qualified.

Tiberius had been Dominus's body slave not but a few years, a position of note among the house slaves. His dark hands, though shackled, chain always in Master's hand, were not the calloused rough ones of the other slaves. His back no longer broke of rigorous labor. His voice no longer ignored. His being, his self, his heart no longer burdened with weight of the unattainable. He had privilege. It was but a fortune, and after having been a house slave for many years, one that he kept close to heart and did not overlook. Long past were the days when he fought the ties that bound him to his Master, when he yearned for something as simple as his own choice in his own life. Tiberius had accepted his fate, and lived comfortably within it.

But comfort was a fortune not to be wasted on slaves, something he had forgotten, and something the rebels cruelly reminded him of.

Example still that a freeman he was not. It was not his choice to join the rebellion, yet sword was in hand and he was training. There was of little doubt that when the rebellion moved forward, for whatever cause chosen by the men who placed themselves above others by force, the _freed_ slaves that didn't take to blade as babe to breast would find themselves on the bitter end of it.

As Tiberius gripped the sword he came to these realities. He was robbed of his very life the second that Spartacus entered his Dominus's villa. By what hands the fate would fall wasn't of import.

And thus he took to purpose; his training would not be in vain. He would grant self choice.


	3. Chapter 3

The dagger cut through the air, Tiberius's hand firm in intent. The woman who had been fixed to Spartacus's side, by sight and action and obvious affection, gave out warning from her place on the bed under him. Dominus's quarters, the very same that the Thracian rebel took up as his own, was covered in a blanket of shadows, candles giving off glow in the night that had set over the villa. Whether it was from the grunt as he wielded his weapon overhead, or the light it captured as he brought it down that caught her attention mattered not.

Spartacus was caught unaware, but he was trained in combat, in survival, not that of submission, thus overtaking a body slave pretending as soldier was quick and swift. Without effort, Spartacus grabbed Tiberius, using a simple cloth from the bed, he wrapped it around his neck, pinning his hands under them as well, easily removing the dagger. Spartacus slammed Tiberius to the bed, hovering above him.

And it was as Tiberius had predicted. He had not taken to the blade as a babe to breast, and he did find himself at the bitter end of it. But that the rebel hesitated in completing the deed caused Tiberius's anger to mount.

"You've already killed me once, do not hesitate to revisit the deed." His eyes demanded, enflamed, as they glared at Spartacus, his body pushing up against the man to remind him of intended purpose.

But it was his woman that responded, covering in a corner, but glaring at the attempt made against what was hers. "He did nothing but offer freedom. And this is how you repay?"

"It was not his to grant," Tiberius said, his eyes returning a glare as he all but spat at the man who had condemned his fate. "I was body slave to the Dominus. I had position and respect."

"You were a slave. Everything you possessed a mere fleeting illusion," Spartacus said, lifting the dagger slightly away from Tiberius's neck, to allow voice to find purchase.

But that Tiberius would accept one Master over the other, was never his intent. "You but take my Master's place."

"And what would your Master do now, if he stood so assaulted?"

Pushing up, allowing the dagger to break skin, Tiberius stared into the fate he had chosen for self, not that chosen for him. "He would see me dead."

When the Thracian asked who would see blood, back in the courtyard earlier that eve, Tiberius knew that he would. But whose had never been of question. He knew, beyond doubt, that his life was cast the moment Spartacus made appearance. Therefore he decided that if his blood must be shed, he would choose the manner. He was not such a fool to think he could overtake the Slayer of Theokoles with a simple dagger, but if he made attempt and was able to at the very least draw blood, then he would not have to wait for his fate to find him. He would hasten it.

This had been his choice, and as he pushed back against the Thracian, fire in his dark eyes, anger and resolve in his stare, he hoped that the man wouldn't continue to hesitate much longer to finish the deed.

"Yes," Sparactus said. Relieving Tiberius of his final burden. "He would."


End file.
